


Good Night, Oh Baby

by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angst, F/M, Kidnapping, Neglect, Self-Denial, Separations, Sequel, Suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27042544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier/pseuds/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier
Summary: You didn't realise what being the true mate of Dean Winchester would really mean....I think I’m supposed to die.Me dying seems to be what this is all about....
Relationships: Dean Winchester & You, Dean Winchester/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	Good Night, Oh Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Part 3 **then** 2 to _[Wouldn't it be nice?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8769127)_ which was **very** smutty and fluffy and not at all like this.

## Part 3

I think I’m supposed to die.

Me dying seems to be what this is all about, but then they gave me water, so I’m not that sure anymore. It’s a bit frustrating when the only thing I can do is think and I’m pretty sure I’m getting worse at it.

I’m not really much anymore, just alive.

The dust and grit that annoyed my shoulder and got into my hair, that’s comfort, now. I can press my temple into the cold ground for the cool. I just can’t get as much of it as I could before. I think I’m too hot for everything under me. It smells, feels like dirt, though it’s probably concrete beneath the layers. Everything seems to be concrete. Dirt and stone. Maybe it’s a special place for the ones who might burn, like me.

The ache in my shoulders has numbed and jellied several times over. My hands behind me are just the thing keeping me connected to the wall, they’re so invisible to my mind, beyond the shackles. Yesterday, or the second day, there was a lactic ache from every muscle between my armpits and knees contracting on myself, on nothing, on instinct; a grind and squeak from my joints asking to be held and felt. I panicked because it’s only my second heat, you know? But I know about heats and I’d cried out about the help I knew I’d need. I sat and squirmed and pleaded at the door. All those falsetto facts bouncing around my head - febrile seizures, dehydration, hormonal storms, atrophied organs, spontaneous abruption, delirium, mania, shock - so true and so important and so, so not the concern of anyone who could hear me, even if the cinderblocks weren’t here. 

That ache seems to have gone now, and I don’t really know the one in its place, but it’s a kind of nausea in my bones. Everything around them seems to press, makes my ears pop from the inside, like the bottom of the ocean breaks inside my belly, plumes of broiling heat, right up the middle of me, like my soft skin could split open and puke silt from anywhere. I feel deaf from the pressure.

The dirt, somehow, it’s good, though. It’s neutral, earth-stuff, like us, down in the dirt like primal things. But then each time I get the smell of wet dust it’s just… it’s all through me, that scratchy palate taste. Like if you buried me raw, you couldn’t tell me apart to dig me out of the soil….

Once, they brought Dean into the room. I saw him land on his own knees and chest just to be close enough, and all those fancy facts got put away and I stopped thinking about what might happen to me. I felt my mind blacken out all that, for him.

He rubbed his burning forehead to mine, bloody sweat making him slip off and knock onto the floor. He said so many words in a row - _baby_ and _gonna be_ and _love you_ \- and it was nearly delirium to hear his voice in those slurry shapes. But really, I’d curved myself off the flat just to pull the timbre of him into my ears, feel the warmth of his tone on my skin, thread it down my throat, and feel it milk its way through me, like food and air. Like the first time I’d felt his skin on mine. The first time his fragrance had wrapped itself around my brain and made me lose my place in time, and I went to his voice, where I should always be.

He’d levered himself enough to get his cracked lips on me, dragged his tilted weight over my ear and to my neck so he could put his mouth over the scar and breathe. It was as close as he could be to what’s home. Like he could carry me out of there like that. I imagined him drinking me and pushed my neck into his tongue, wishing him to hide me in his belly and carry us away. His breath pushed out his nose, blowing sweat as it ran, and he shuddered and hummed on me.

When he’d tilted, scraped his teeth against the ridge of my jaw, I could feel him try to shift and align himself to me, get his body closer. But someone tugged on him, lifted him enough that I could catch his lips with mine, and for three full seconds, I existed where we touched; I sucked the flavour of him over my tongue and felt him love me.

I hadn’t opened my eyes because the red I’d seen, bleary when I’d opened them at the noise, that was enough to tell me he looked terrible. And I felt, you know, maybe he didn’t want me to see him that bad. And maybe I’d be better off not having that image in my mind. And really, I’m glad I didn’t, because his voice was stronger than I expected, scratched but firm, as they took him away again. “You stay strong. Okay? You’re strong-” They’d done something, a hit or jerk, but he’d gotten out, “Stronger than anyone knows,” before the door clanged shut. And if I’d been looking at him, at how he looked, maybe that wouldn’t have stuck with me so well.

Everything about me cried. My eyes, my mouth, my body, leaking misery and pain and love, until I closed myself up and imagined keeping it all together; all that pulsing hurt, pretended it was a muscle getting stronger and not unnaturally swollen to the point of peeling, living on the liquid that existed to keep me and his love alive.

And that was yesterday, I think. Lovely yesterday.

Someone came in and poured water down my throat since then, but that’s all…

If it doesn’t ache, it stings. If it isn’t sweat, it’s slick. The best strategy I have is staying still. Moving makes itches twitch and aches creak. Moving just shows me where everything is and how much it hurts, and it’s an expensive risk when one little twist turns into a rock, or a grind, or some other repetitive thing that’s never gonna do what’s needed while nothing can be actually done. That is not a sensible way to spend energy. 

Jeans are irritating, but at least they help me feel together. Everything is damp. The bottom of my t-shirt is cold from slick, and my jeans are dark down to the calves, slowly wicking the musky hope towards my ankles. The dust around my pockets and waist has gone pasty, gummed up with heady moisture. Even my scalp is irritated, itchy with sweat I can’t work away with anything but this grainy ground. And in the cold of the quiet, empty space, when my wet clothes make me shiver, concentrating enough to let myself be still and not shudder around the ache, that feels like quite an accomplishment.

Maybe I am stronger than I think.

I could rest, for a while, maybe, and get some stronger.

Maybe the true mate of Dean would be as strong as him, by design. And look at Sam, surviving without his mate after all this time. He’s strong like Dean. Gritty. 

Yeah, I’m strong. 

Strong enough.

There’s this thing he does- most of the time it’s like he’s either purposefully not looking at me, or trying to speak directly to my brain. But sometimes he breathes in while he’s looking into my eyes and it’s as though a cloud’s come along to take him off his feet and plonk him into a happy, timeless silence. Everything else falls away for me, too, most times, but if I concentrate, I can watch his face change, see his eyes sparkle and creases ease in, and his head tips just a little to the side. It’s like he’s been donked with a squeaky Love Hammer. I had no idea alphas could be so… squishy. He says he can’t believe he got me, all the time….

….It must be torture, if they’re keeping me alive. My fat tongue and addley train of thought say they’re not doing a very good job. There’s a good chance, really, that some of me will be not the same again by this, for some time. But it’s Dean they’re torturing, really, not me, and it’s Dean through me….

Leave us both in here alone and unable to touch each other. That could be deadly. Deadly together. Very mean.

Or make Dean watch others rape me, but not knot me. Not me? No, not knot. Knot you. 

Or maybe knot me. Or claim me. I don’t know which worse, or if that something I don’t know yet. All meaner than not not knotting- nnnnot doing those things.

Maybe they’ll beat me. Or beat him. And make me cry, which make him cry.

Doesn’t matter. 

I am his true mate and he mine. We’re connected, in

du

bi

ta

bly.

Irrevocably.

Nothing can bend that. I will persist, no matter what they do.

Maybe it would be nice to get married.

I will wait, and that is what I will do. I can be patient. Omegas may not be the same strong as alphas… but we’re not weak. We… 

we go through. 

Through. 

Everything.

* * *

## Part 2

“I was thinking we could send them, like, just the coordinates, at some point.”

Dean slows down as he puts my last bag in the trunk, blinking into a frown. “No, we can’t.”

“Well, just the-”

“Okay, I need you to listen to me, alright?”

“Okay.” I’m frowning. If he’s about to go all I Am Your Alpha on me, I won’t be thrilled. It hasn’t even been a week and turns out Dean’s already far bossier than anyone I’m usually willing to put up with.

“Now, I don’t wanna go all Alpha on you- but I _will_ ,” he says, Lord, with that voice again. “ _If I have to._ You’re frowning at me, again.” I’m still managing how that voice feels, in my chest. I hate how I like it, but I can keep my brain on track, now that I’m through the heat.

He takes hold of my shoulders and tilts his forehead at me, as if to mind-meld the point home. “You are saying goodbye, today, forever, for your safety, and especially theirs.”

“ _What?_ You mean, ‘forever’? You’re taking me away forever.” What the hell is this?

“Yeah. You got the tattoo, and that protects you some, but them, Honey… They cannot be associated with us.”

“They’re my family. We’re associated.”

“We’re your family, too, and this is how we protect them.” He lets me go, shuts the truck with what I’m learning is exasperation, and starts to walk around the car, pausing for me to walk with him, watching me think. 

I’ve clearly taken too long to figure this out but seriously, that’s because it sounds a lot like I’m supposed to never see my sister and parents again. He’s still got his arm in the air to shepherd me along.

“Dean, no omega is supposed to exist with just their Alpha alone. I need my sister, my mom, those connections are-”

“I know!” Another burst of frustration. “I know.” Another moment to calm. Another deep breath. “I understand,” he says, facing me again. “I know exactly,” he enunciates, “how bad this is for you. Please. Don’t think I’m not aware of how unhealthy it is for you to be detached from family. But _we_ cannot be apart. And they cannot be safe _and_ near me. So _we_ -” I don’t know what oxygen miraculously does for him, but one more inhale he’s back to square one again. “I love you. One of the reasons Sam lost his omega was because of her connections, the risks. It will be hard, but not as hard as doing without each other.”

I can’t even remember what it was like before, how I thought of everyone before I had Dean between me and them. But once we were bound, these recent days together, I feel like something has ribboned out of me and across the ground to my family because… because I thought it would be more family.

Then it dawns on me; I thought we’d have children. Pups, I mean. And that I’d need my family, to help.

And now I’m thinking… Dean doesn’t want pups?

“Dean…” 

“I’ve been leading you away from things in baby-steps, probably not clearly enough.” He’s deep, and sorry, and I feel like I’m shuddering off my whole future from the realisation. “None of it is going to be like you expected. Like anyone expects.”

“Dean, won’t we need them?”

He kisses me on the temple, presses his chin to my head, and I can feel my throat tightening around a dozen pointless sentences before he murmurs, “Go say goodbye.”

Jenny’s on the porch, pinching her fingers and looking sorry. Dad’s got Mom’s shoulders like they’re on the edge of a cliff. He’s holding her there, watching me as if I’m on television, smiling rigid and petrified. 

“Jenny, what’s going on?” She’s already coming down the steps, arms open and sad. “How do you know what’s going on? Why can’t Mom-”

“Sweetie, I know it’s early days so your brain is still settling into all the change and your dots probably aren’t connecting very well, okay? So just listen to me for a minute?”

“Yeah?”

“I saw the scars, yeah? And Dean explained what they do.”

“Yeah, but-” What did he say to them and not me? “But you’re my sister. This is my mom and dad.”

“Just remember; we understand, okay?” She puts her hand to the side of my face and tells me again. “We understand why this has to happen. We love you.” She’s crying. Her eyes are shaking the tears free. I can’t leave when she’s crying. When she cries, I cry. She’s how I know I should be crying. “I know Dean will take the best care of you he can. He’s your alpha, and he’s going to look after you as best he can.” She’s squeaking her words and crying. I can’t leave now. “We will be just fine. We’ll miss you, but we’ll be fine and looked after. Okay?”

“Jenny. I can’t _live_ without-” How can anyone be expected to do this? Mom and Dad are practically shaking. This is my family, I can’t be whole without them. I can’t even get my mouth to talk properly anymore. “Jenny. You’re my _sister_.”

“And he’s your alpha. He’s all you need.”

I look at who she means, my neck turning like it always does when they talk about him. How can my soul go one way and my spirit another?

I can’t move myself. I look at my feet and the grass between us. He looks at it, too, steps over enough to reach his hand out, and my hand meets his all by itself. “Please don’t make me do this.”

“You want me to?” he offers, like he’s going to feed me. He steps into my space and kisses my temple, nudges me around, and lets me feel him close and warm. “I don’t mind, if you need to be angry at me.” More kisses, little nudging crumbs that lead me on. “I can’t be near them,” he whispers, “when monsters come.”

“But you said you kill them, and save Sam.” I look at him, wishing he’d help me understand why those stories aren’t what’s going to happen, when my alpha saves us all, like he saved me.

“Baby,” he sighs, cupping my jaw and kissing me long and leaning. “Yeah, I have, but he’s died. We’ve both died.” He tips his head down so all I can see is his furrowed brow, his shame, hidden from everyone by the turn of my head. “We never save everyone.”

I don’t understand, and I don’t understand why I don’t understand. Everyone’s using such small words, and I’m still stuck here, waiting for what’s clearly so simple to make some sense…. “I think I need you to take me.”

“Okay.”

I don’t know what I meant, but Dean takes it literally, takes me, literally, off the ground and into his arms, letting Sam start the car while he slides me into the back upon his lap.

The door slams and the noise of the engine seems to seal it up. Jenny and my folks change from the people I just spoke to, into a scene that swings around the outside of the car, them smiling miserably and waving me away. I watch the world I know go by from under the crush of Dean’s hugging arm. I feel like I should cry more but there’s something… the scent? Something that keeps me from being able to feel what I know. And now we’ve gone too far to see them out the back windscreen…

Telephone poles pace by and already they’re becoming who I knew, what happened once, my parents and my wonderful sister trying not to cry from saying their last goodbye, to me. And Dean keeps hugging me, kissing me, murmuring, “Don’t worry, Baby. It’ll make sense soon. We’ll go home, set you up. Get married, if you want. Wouldn’t that be nice, huh?”

“Yeah.” 

Am I going to miss them?

I lean into his side and breathe in his scent to help soothe me. I guess getting married will involve just us, but being married, living together, having my alpha… I’m probably not going to want anything else, I guess.

He looks down at me, taking a purposeful breath. I guess he’s finding this a bit hard too, but then he smiles, looks at me like he’s diving into my eyes for refuge. 

If nothing interrupts us, he’ll kiss me. Just lean over like our lips are magnetised. He’s done a few Oh Baby You Got No Idea moves on me, which are so overwhelming I giggle my head off, but in these kisses, he’s helpless. Hands are an afterthought, and if we’re still not interrupted… his lips just do what the rest of him wants, what both of us want. But these kisses, he pours himself into them like he’s heard a trigger word for hypnotism. He says he can’t believe he got me, nearly every other hour. I can’t believe I got him either.

He’s the last kind of him I expected to get.

And before I know it, we’ve kissed long enough that we’re passing the city limits on the other side of town. The green fields behind him are fresh and bright and feel like a new spring of what’s to come. “I’ll never tell Sam this but I swear,” he mumbles, nuzzling my cheek, my neck, “sometimes I think I can see little cartoon birds flyin’ ‘round my head when I’m lookin’ at you. Be glad to get you home.”

Gosh. Home. “Lovey-dovey.”

“Yeah.” He tucks my legs over his lap, shucks me under his arm some more, and breathes me in. “Not even sure I want it to pass.”

“I won’t let it,” I say, feeling his lips bounce off mine between the words. “Birdies every day for us.”

And I love these kisses, too, these passionate, crushing don’t-ever-leave kisses when his breath warms my cheeks in hard huffs of affection. Love every floral-cushiony, lacy-curtained, picket-fenced, cheek-squishing moment of them. He’s everything I ever imagined, but better, realer, readier, and he’s taking me home so that he can keep me, his future wife, his precious omega, all to himself. Honestly, it’s everything I’ve ever wished for. I couldn’t be happier.


End file.
